I Love You Me Neither FR: Je T'aime Moi Non
by Kira Kiralina
Summary: Eric & Sookie's first anniversary. Eric is offering her the ring. Will she give him her heart? French style fluffy lemonade.  My second entry for I Write The Songs contest. Canon, post DITF. Rated M for boudoir action. E/S


**I Love You... Me Neither [FR: ****Je T'aime... Moi Non Plus]**

**I Write The Songs. CONTEST ENTRY**

**TITLE: ****Je T'aime... Moi Non Plus [EN: I Love You... Me Neither], **song by Jane Birkin & Serge Gainsbourg 1969  
**CHARACTERS: **Sookie, Eric, mentions of Adele, aunt Linda, Hadley, Pam, Bill, Quinn.  
**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own the characters or anything else from the TB/SVM-universe. Also nothing related to this song. And certainly not the blue diamond Star of Josephine.

**PEN NAME: **Kira Kiralina  
**BETA NAME: **Scattered21  
**VIRGIN WRITER : **No  
**TEASER:** Eric & Sookie's first anniversary. Eric is offering her the ring. Will she give him her heart? French style lemonade. Canon, post DITF. Rated M for boudoir action.

* * *

_Banner, made by my dear Scattered21: _

_www(DOT)mediafire(DOT)com(SLASH)imageview(DOT)php?quickkey=wql655w71fjri5c&thumb=5_

* * *

"Paris? Paris!" I shout like a five year old. I try to resist jumping up and down. I jump into his arms instead, squeaking in delight. Most likely the whole Fangtasia crowd will hear us. For once, I don't care. "Are we going to Paris?"

"Yes, Paris. The City of Lights. Night lights. The City of Love." He winks.

"Two full weeks!" I squeak.

Eric grins ear-to-ear over my excitement.

I never got to travel for pleasure until now. When I was little, Gran had no money to spare on such things as she struggled to raise me and Jason. But she always kept a postcard with the Eiffel Tower, sent by Aunt Linda from her honeymoon. It was where Hadley was conceived. Visiting Paris was one of Gran's fondest dreams. D'Artagnan and his Three Musketeers were my childhood heroes since those were her favorite books to read to us.

"Will we visit Versailles and the Louvre?"  
"And Notre Dame, and whatever else you want."  
"When do we leave?"  
"In a month." His aqua eyes are twinkling.  
"You remembered!" Our first anniversary. One full year since the obnoxious pledging ceremony. The memory is not a very good one. Eric, me, and Victor in this very office. Presenting him the ceremonial dagger and, just like that, we were married. Despite this rough beginning, this trip is very sweet of him. From what I have seen in the minds of countless women, men have a tendency to disregard the significance of such things.  
"I never forget. Not a single thing." He offers in a mock offended tone. Vampires never forget. Another one of his gifts, or perhaps it is a curse.

"Consider this our honeymoon." I so see Pam's signature all over this.  
What can I answer?

"You know, I don't know the French language. I should at least learn how to French kiss. Do you know any suitable teachers?" I tease. Suddenly all his pretense is long forgotten and the grin is back.  
"Come here."  
I rise to kiss him but he stops me: "I am the teacher. Stay put."  
His stern tone makes me blush like a school girl, and I comply.

His long fingers brush the column of my neck, tilting my chin to meet him. Inch-by-inch he lowers his face towards me, until his nose almost touches mine. I feel him taking a deep breath, inhaling my smell. Under the thick lashes, his pupils dilate until there is only a faint hue of blue left in his irises. I almost sigh in frustration over the effect on him of my own fairy blood. Traitorous blood, frantically pumped by my heart. It is a strange thing to be jealous over your own blood, but I am. Somehow he resists the compulsion to pop out his fangs.

Slowly he teases me with the tip of his nose, caressing me with feather-like touches. The simple, barely-there cold feeling sends shivers of anticipation throughout my entire body. I have challenged a Master in the art of kissing, and now I will be the recipient of a delicious sample of his expertise.

I inhale the scent of him, the fresh scent of his cologne mixed in with his faint, dry smell. He smell is so familiar, so alluring. I can so easily imagine the Northern seas and the shores where he must have played as a child before embarking on his Viking voyages when he came of age. Eric is my sea, while I am the island, surrounded by him.

The tip of his tongue touches the corner of my mouth, tracing the contour of my lips, in a slow pace, like a gentle wave caressing my feet on the beach.  
Then he fully tastes my lips, his cold tongue tempting me like an ice cream. The most delicious ice cream in the whole world, Eric-flavored. Ice cold like tongue, tempting my lips again and again, coming and going, forever. And I can't resist... No one could.

Our tongues meet in-between, tasting, touching, stroking, in tortured, languid movements. His tongue is mine to taste, caress, envelop with my own. To taste both its silky underside, and its velvety top. I give mine equally to him for his own explorations. And so we go, in a slow, teasing dance, for what feels like hours.

I'm burning, my fire meeting his ice. Melting into one.  
Panting and groaning, my chest is heaving. I'm desperate for more than this feeble tactile feeling. I need his lips, his teeth, his fangs, _damn_, even his tonsils if I can find them!

Finally, oh thank God, he grants me access, and I am beyond eager for the deeper connection.  
And we take time to reacquaint ourselves with all the nooks and crevices of our mouths. Take time to reconnect with each other.

~o~

"Thank you for the French lesson," I tell him, hours later, after he shown me how he can also kiss me in even more creative ways. We are cuddling on the big couch in his office. Happy, and basking in the cocooning feelings that the bond invokes..  
"You are most welcome, dear wife." He finally looks somewhat sated with me and my blood.  
"I love you Sookie! I would do anything for you." The intensity of his gaze makes my heart ache.  
"Love you, too," I say. It sounds weak even to me, like a feeble echo. Why does it have to be so damn difficult? Is this truly love, or just lust? Relentlessly he pushes wave after wave of warm feelings through our connection. Yet, I can't help thinking: _Can anyone really love me?_ I close my eyes, avoiding the sight of the hurt clouding his ocean blue eyes, but I can still feel it through the bond. Our fateful bond...

~o~

Paris.  
Here we are, after a long flight on Anubis Airlines, in the Belle Etoile Royal Suite of the Hotel Le Meurice. I've never even dreamed about staying in a place that names individual rooms. And this is not a room, It is an apartment, no, an entire floor. Our private palace.  
The place is decorated as I imagined the rooms from Versailles would look like during the reign of Louis XIV. White furniture, gold ornaments, and lush silk gold and silver fabrics everywhere.  
And the bath... White marble with black veins, and windows all around. Windows with a view towards the svelte silhouette of the Eiffel Tower and the myriad of Paris' city lights. Such a deliciously decadent place. I could spend the whole week alone in the Hotel's tub. A huge, round spa tub already filled with water and floating red rose petals, like splatters of blood on the white of the bathtub. Ready for us to rid ourselves of the journey's dirt and fatigue.

~o~

Nine full days, or rather nights, pass swiftly.

I am exhausted. Totally worn out. I can't take one more painting, or another monument.  
I've seen all that a cliché Paris tour should include.  
We've visited the imposing Louvre, then the golden Versailles. They each required two nights with Eric, but not even two weeks could fully uncover the delights contained within their walls. Surprisingly Eric had very few stories about the French Renaissance, telling me he tended to avoid the nobility and cities altogether due to the stench of the humans who only used water at baptismal ceremonies. The odor of unwashed flesh, according to Eric, was worse than a battlefield full of forgotten rotting corpses.  
At Notre Dame, Eric took me on the roof top of it to see the gargoyles. Those are some terrifying creatures, even more than Sigebert and Wybert were. We flew straight to the top of Eiffel Tower. We took a walk on the Champs-Élysées and climbed into the Arc d'Triomphe, marveling at the sheer beauty of Paris and of the amazing creature next to me. I even saw the replica of the Statue of Liberty, which felt strange, considering that I haven't yet visited New York and the original one. I sipped French Champagne and Eric's joie de vivre throughout the Moulin Rouge can-can cabaret show. We shopped at Galleries Lafayette and engaged in so many other delightful indulgences. Yes, I quite let Eric spoil me on this excursion.

To his disappointment, I was so excited every evening for what we planned to visit, and so tired by morning, we hardly had time to take advantage of the amazing supersized canopy bed.  
I spent the brief waking hours of my days at the hotel SPA or exploring the little boutiques in the neighborhood for small souvenirs for those back home.

~o~

The tenth night. Our anniversary night.  
It is hard to comprehend that it only a year has passed since our pledging. So many things have happened to us since then.

Eric, sensing my fatigue, or perhaps anticipating it, has planned the most casual program for this night. After a walk along the Seine, filled with light conversation and bantering, we end up in Montmartre, in a small café.  
Café Guerbois, a place that smells of coffee and pastry, is stuffed with well-worn, comfortable furniture. The welcoming space is filled with joyful people, some kissing in the corners, others talking animatedly with their friends over a bottle of wine, or just sipping coffee while reading a book.  
A place where Eric takes time to enthusiastically recount juicy little stories about the time he spend here, about a century and a half ago. His meetings in this place were with Degas, Renoir, Monet, Van Gogh and so many others that are now recognized as geniuses. Back then they were only some illustrious unknowns, yet still interesting human beings for an ancient vampire.  
Speakers hidden in the alcove blare old French music - chansonettes. Passionate music with many songs that verge on the obscene, especially one of them. The kind of song over which even the wires in the radio should be jumping each others bones. Yet nobody but me seems embarrassed.

Paris is also refreshing because I mostly can't read the minds, since they think in their language, and they tend to have a light, relaxed spirit.

~o~

When we return to the hotel, it is much earlier than usual. A sumptuous dinner is spread out for us on the terrace, candlelight, roses, French cuisine and wine, and piano music in the background.  
The ignorant backwater waitress that I was only few short years ago would consider herself totally and irremediably crazy for imagining something close to this: dining and dancing with the most handsome man I could dream of, the panoramic lights of the most beautiful city in the world as background. A dream come true.  
Yet there is suddenly more, a whole lot more.  
After bending me backwards at the conclusion of the third song, I was about to protest we stop for a minute, when, Eric drops down on his knee in front of me. With Vampire speed, he presents me a blue velvet box

THE box. With THE ring.  
In a daze, I hear him saying the words I've always dreamed of: _"Sookie Stackhouse, will you marry me? Again?"_ Well, not exactly the last part, but the rest is... What's the word I'm seeking?  
Perfect.  
So I do my best _not_ to faint on the spot.

Somehow I manage to connect with the chair instead of the tiled floor.  
"I love you. If you won't consider pledging marriage I will marry you in any way you want. If you want." His voice wavers with an endearingly unexpected insecurity.  
And all I can do is stare at the blue rock in a simple gold mounting that Eric places on my ring finger. It has exactly the same shade as his eyes.  
"I named it the **Star of Fae**."  
"You named a stone?" However beautiful, it is just a stone, isn't it?  
"It's name was the Star of Josephine, and, even if I have some good memories of Club Dead, it didn't felt right." He adds in clarification, "This is a rather rare blue diamond."  
I am dumbfounded. Count on Eric to manage to turn a relatively small ring into another lavish gift. Only this is much more than a gift. It's the big unspoken question: _"__Will I accept him, without a threat looming from his Vampire superiors from André and Felipe, as happened at both our bonding and pledging? Will I allow myself to trust him with my heart?"_  
To his evident dismay I postpone my answer, saying I need time. But it is not just a matter of time. And Eric knows it.

So, instead of over-thinking it, I drag him into the bedroom.  
"Do you happen to have that scandalous music that was playing earlier at the cafe?" Even though I might not be able to say yes to him tonight, I will show him my gratitude in other ways. The song will tell the words I can't yet voice. I hope he will understand.  
Of course he locates it. In mere seconds, the languid female voice is crooning:

_je t'aime, je t'aime_  
_oh, oui je t'aime!..._

I push him on the bed, and slowly proceed to take off my clothes, in a show of what I hope is a sensuous striptease.  
First I loosen my belt, the only thing that holds my dress together. I slide it off one shoulder, followed by the other one.  
Turning my back to him I flash him with the skin of my back, while undulating my hips to the rhythm of the melody.

_oh, mon amour..._  
_comme la vague irrésolu_  
_je vais, je vais et je viens_

The dress is out of the picture, a puddle of silk at my feet, and I am left covered only by the sheer burgundy lace set, embellished with golden musical notation embroidery and henna flowers. One that Eric bought for me the night before, joking that it will be my only clothing for our Opera night. Under the smoldering, undivided attention of my lover, I prepare to demonstrate some of what he has taught me, but more of what I instinctively know he wants. My vampire, my man.

The bra is hanging suspended on my hard nipples, when with a flick of my wrists, it lands on the closest piece of furniture. An appreciate moan issues from my lover.

A bit of teasing, and I face him, for an unobstructed sight of warm puppies in my hands, eager to be touched and caressed

"See anything you like?"

He only nods, at a loss for words.. I must be doing something right. Eric's eyes are bulging as they roaming the sight of me, and his fangs are fully extended. He is the spitting image of sex starvation. My poor baby, he is so pent up after the last few nights, which were filled with sightseeing, and devoid of sex. And I admit I love to torment him, tweaking and pinching my engorged nipples barely out of his reach.

_tu vas et tu viens  
entre mes reins  
et je te rejoins_

Sliding panties down my legs I follow their descent with a caress, and then twirl them on my index finger for few moments. I throw them towards Eric, so he can feel how dripping wet I am for him. At lightning speed, he grabs then and inhales the scent that coats them, a low rumbling in his chest erupting into a full growl.

"Take off your clothes!" I command. It feels so empowering to be the one in control.

"Slowly," I add, when he uses his inhuman speed to lose the shoes and to turn his black silk button-down into flying rags.

My turn now to gape at the slow advance of his fingers as they unbuckle his leather belt, unbutton and unzip his gray pants, then lowers them past his hips, his thighs, his calves, and his feet, until he is left in just a pair of tiny red shiny underwear, which brings out intense memories. Shiny fabric that is now stretched dangerously beyond its limits.

"You are still overdressed." I say, careful not to let the drool seep onto my chin. "Let me help you with that," I generously offer.

I lower myself over him, and pluck a corner of the offending material that stands between us with my teeth. Is not an easy task when there is a monster inside threatening to burst forth. And burst it does, proud, strong, and leaking out of his single eye.

But I ignore it, despite its standing firm like a beaconing lighthouse. Nibbing and licking I make my way up on his long left leg, then down the right one, paying special attention to his inner thigh and the sensitive skin behind his knee.

I rejoice when I see how he fights his dominant nature to let me lead this game of ours.

I move lower and tease with only the tip of my tongue the special spot hidden behind his sac, slightly pressing into it in circular motions. The touch makes him arch on the bed with a hiss, his hands fisting the thick comforter to the point of tearing it apart. Replacing my tongue with the brush of my knuckles, I raise my mouth and take in one of his generous balls. How I love the whimpering sounds he makes when I massage them in my mouth!

I release them and look up to find him with eyes rolled back in his head, jaws tightly clenched.

"Look at me lover," I beckon.

In that exact moment, when our eyes meet, the bond that has felt muffled bursts fully open and his feelings of lust, want, and need flood it, and me, fueling and inflaming my desire. Resistance is futile, and patience overrated.

"Not fair," I moan with my mouth already full of his throbbing member.

"No, not fair at all," he laughs, between his moans. Damn! He must be the one that invented the _'All's fair in love and war'_ saying. That sly vampire!

I'm taking him in as much as is humanly possible, even if my jaw aches with his girth. In our bond I feel the pleasure I am giving him as my own. I can't get enough of him. His gracious plenty is in my hands, at my mercy. And I need both of my hands for this gratifying task. His wanton sounds are adding to the ones in the song that he set on infinite loop for me

_je vais et je viens  
et je me retiens  
Non! Maintenant viens!  
_

I might be on my knees in front of him, but I am the one in control. He comes soon, like a shot, with a wild, unrestrained roar, while I feast on his delicious juices. I am elated that I brought him to release so rapidly.

Any self control I previously had quickly dissolves into our shared, all-consuming lust, and I am extremely thankful he doesn't require recovery time. I NEED to be joined with him, to feel our body melt into one - a single, orgasmic being.

Swiftly I straddle him, and start to ease myself onto his hard rod. It is still not an easy task, but I thrive on the feeling of molding my insides to his generous phallic shape while I pause to adjust.

"Fuck me! Please." he huskily whispers with eyes darkened by lust.

Oh, I can do that for him. Especially when he asks me so nicely.

Slowly I start to move on top of him, rising and falling deeper and deeper each time, eyes locked on one another.

Like a boat on the sea we slowly rock for what feels like forever and ever. Each movement deepens our connection of both our bodies and our souls, until they melt into one. The slow pace, with only shallow moves, grows into a wild, frantic tempo. A frenzy that creates a torrent of unity, a tidal wave that grows and grows, then crashes over both of us as we come, spasms echoing each other, in what feels like long bursts of blinding light.

With painful clarity I can feel the love coming from him, wave after wave, while I am still his naked, irresolute island.

_tu es la vague, moi l'île nue  
tu va, tu va et tu viens  
entre mes reins  
_

~o~

When Eric succumbs for the day I get out of bed and walk outside on the huge terrace of this penthouse apartment.  
The sun has already risen, its familiar bright face joyfully greeting me. The sun is part of me; it plays a important part for my fae family. Can I give up on it? For Eric?  
I have already given up so much. Since entering the Supernatural world, I have given its members my innocence, my credulity, my love, my loyalty. I gave them all to Bill, then to Quinn, and never got them back. There is a deep wound where my heart used to reside. And the more Eric professes his love, the more he nudges me for mine, the more my heart bleeds from its old wounds. Every time my heart swells over his declarations of love, I feel like there is a thorn circlet that constricts my poor heart in a painful grasp.  
In the solitude of the terrace I relive all the memories I've made since my very first vampire, my first everything, walked into my bar and into my life. The shattered hopes over a happy first love with Bill flash before my eyes. The foolish dreams of children and a 'normal' future with Quinn.

_Happily Ever After_- the phrase has always seemed just empty words that have meaning only in fairytales. Still, this is all every living breathing people aim to. Will I gave up to the hope of finding normality?  
Because nothing can be normal, ordinary, with Eric. Rather extraordinary, but for how long? Can I be enough for him? Won't he break my heart too?  
How will I face time, aging when he will remain eternally young and beautiful? Or perhaps I will concede to be turned, to give my life, my entire being to him. And then I will watch everybody else perish, but us. I would be a young vampire in the unforgiving Supernatural society. A freshman all over again, in a horror high school, with _nothing_ but _him._

So I sit on the rattan chair, under the blazing sun, pouring out my pain, crying until I am left drained of tears and sorrow.

The sun climbs high in the sky, and then commences his descent. Time elapses, like sand in the world's hourglass. The ending of this day is creeping into my consciousness, with its inexorable promise for the future. The promise that the man who loves me will stand by me.

Only then do I took a look around. And see Paris in the dimming daylight, from the height of this seventh floor. Incredible colors blend in the sky, coloring the clouds and the shadows, like a vast impressionist painting.  
So beautiful, so old, so new. Timeless. Just like Eric. My Eric. Eric, the only steady thing in my life since I met him. Selfish or not, I know I can always trust him with my life. And he never lies to me, ever.

What am I doing here? Sitting in the middle of all this searing beauty and dwelling in self-pity? Crying my heart out for those two a-holes that traded me for other priorities? How much stupider can I get?

I take a long look at my left hand, and his ring. My ring if I want it. The Star of Fae. He offers me the moon and stars, while I still cling to the sun. But he won't take it away from me. He only takes what I give him. Will I give him my heart? Should I? Can I?

_Today is the first day of the rest of my life, _somebody once said. But will this life last 50 years or five... what? Hundred, or thousand? Or, perhaps, my life could end tomorrow. No one knows. What will I do for the rest of my time? Will I always be subject to these fears, or allow myself to trust again?  
So what am I waiting for anyhow? To have my virginity grow back? I chuckle quietly. Actually Amelia mentioned a spell that might fix that. But, really, who would really want that?

Time never flows backwards. Not even for vampires.

Taking a deep breath I gather my strength to go back inside.  
I feel dizzy, and lightheaded. Foolishly, I have been fasting while shedding tears all day.

As soon as I step in the bedroom, I am startled to see Eric's naked form lying on the floor, instead of on the bed where I left him in the morning. Why is he here? He never stirs in his day sleep. Even in Rhodes, with the building collapsing all around us, it was difficult for him to awaken.  
But he is motionless now.  
So I take a pillow and a blanket, and I spoon him.

A healing rest envelops me.

~o~

I am soon awakened by a concerned vampire, frowning over me.  
"What is it, lover? I felt your distress in my sleep, but didn't sense you were in any danger." He takes a pause to draw a breath.  
"You were out in the sun, when I went to search for you. And it's a bit too soon for me to share the fate of my maker."  
I can hear the regret in his voice, his fear that something might have happened to me while he was powerless in our bed. And I love that he can joke at his own expense, even in the grimmest of ,moments.  
"Remember what you asked me yesterday?" Seeing his confusion, I clarify.  
"Silly question. I know you do remember it all," I stumble, "I meant your proposal." I finish with an airy wave of my left hand, making the blue diamond sparkle in the crystal chandelier's light.  
He doesn't say anything. Just stares at me, expectantly.  
"I made my decision: it is NO."

Shock mars his handsome features, only to replaced in moments by rejection and pain.  
I reach for his cheek with my hand.  
"Look at me lover." He eventually raises his stormy eyes to meet mine. A single drop of blood runs down his cheek. I catch the ancient elixir with my thumb and bring it up to my lips. Wrapping my tongue around my finger I moan at the rush of feeling his essence flowing in my veins.  
"I won't marry you. Because we are already husband and wife. I love you, husband. I love you. You are my husband, and more, so much more. No ceremony can change that fact for me."

We don't leave the hotel until it is time for our departure, time to embark for the journey home and to begin the rest of our lives.

* * *

_**A/N**_

_Album of pictures for this story, including the models for the **"Little Ted Thing"** scrap of fabric for Eric's Gracious Plenty. You can vote your favorite. **Pool **is in my profile. I can't decide by myself. All are making me drool endlessly.  
_

_www__(DOT)__mediafire(DOT)com/?q3gplyi76gk55#0,2_

_The explicit eroticism of this song was declared offensive at the time of its release in 1969. It was banned from radio play in Italy, Poland, Spain, and the UK, and denounced by the Vatican in a public statement. For me, this was always the perfect Eric/Sookie melody._  
_Link to the song and the English translation of it's lyrics: _

timbuktu09(DOT)multiply(DOT)com/video/item/49/JE_TAIME_MOI_NON_PLUS_I_love_you...me_neither

_The seven carat cushion shape blue diamond is named __**The Star of Josephine**__. It was sold this spring for 9.49 million $: _

www(DOT)luxuo(DOT)com/most-expensive/cullinan-blue-diamond-is-now-star-of-josephine(DOT)html

_ It having the same name with the official title of Club Dead from the second SVM book is a real-life coincidence._

_My thanks to __**Northwoman**__ and __**Northman Maille**__ for creating this contest. Great idea! Also to my wonder-lady __**Scattered21**__ for adding her fairy dust to this story._


End file.
